


Whining in Space, or Life is Pain

by Squidink



Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Gen, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-30
Updated: 2008-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squidink/pseuds/Squidink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waspinator rails against his fate... in <i>space</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whining in Space, or Life is Pain

_Why universe_ ** _hate_** _Waspinator?_

It really wasn't fair.  It wasn't as if he _ever_ did as much as the others.  After all, it wasn't _Waspinator_ that tried to usurp Megatron.  It wasn't _Waspinator_ that betrayed the Predacons to join with the Maximals.  It wasn't _Waspinator_ that pranced about screaming, 'For the Royalty' and burning down primeval forests and carrying on in that general train of toady-ness.    _Waspinator_ did nothing, in fact, to warrant this sort of treatment. He certainly didn't deserve the frequent explosions, the crushing, the squishing, the hitting and the thwacking and the—

The hurtling through space courtesy of primitives and a particularly strong palm tree.  Really, they were _way_ overreacting.

Waspinator sighed, the nebula below him going out of sight as he went about for another rotation.  It really wasn't fair.  What kind of horrible karma had he attracted?  Surely there had to be a reason such awful things happened _so very consistently_ to _him_!

Perhaps it was his speech patterns. Pronouncing every 's' as a 'z' was bound to get on some vindictive cosmic being's nerves, he supposed.  But, then again, look at the other asinine accents the other participants in the beast wars had possessed.  Twangs, brogues, drawls – you named it, someone on one side or the other had it.  Why, Terror-bot had been positively dreadful, with that constant, appalling _sqwark_ -ing, morning, noon, and night.  Surely he deserved worse than poor Waspinator for that alone?

Though, he was rather melted at the moment, so conceivably it was a sort of justice given.  Huh.

Maybe hurtling through the void wasn't so bad.  Just him and the cosmos, he imagined, getting to knowach other.  Ah, yes, it seemed Waspinator's end was just as abysmal as his life had been.  Doomed to a fate of floating around in the big black; perpetually, everlastingly, ceaselessly, et cetera, while distant stars and planets unknowingly marked his progress.  The lonely sojourn of a misplaced cosmonaut, drifting to parts unknown.  The solitary adventurer, the listless explorer, Waspinator: roving for all eternity amongst the far-flung worlds.

Well, until he ran out of energy, in any case. Then he was doomed to slowly endure the cruel fate of decay and energon starvation, with none left to mourn his passing… unless he ran into that crazy ghost-bot again. Though that wasn't much by the way of mourners.

"At least zzpace can't hurt Wazzpinator," he sighed, flicking his wings despondently, little good that they did in the vacuum.  That was a positive point, as the universe was mostly emptiness, with little by the way of Instruments of Unending Pain and Suffering to inflict upon poor Waspinator.  As long as he avoided being hooked in some hulking planetoid’s gravitational pull, there were few chances that anything would—

 _Thunk_! _Thud_! _Whack_!

Waspinator wailed piteously as the space flotsam and jetsam collided with him, seemingly with the single-minded intent of beating back the dim ray of optimism.  " _Why univerzze hate Wazzpinator_!? What – owie, owie, owie – Wazzpinator do to big, ugly – _ouch_ – _zztupid_ univerzze?" He flailed his limbs madly, railing against his unlucky fate.  The momentum generated by the flailing only served to increase his spin, badly throwing off his trajectory to… whatever it was he had been heading to.  Though, of course, in that moment the unfortunate 'con didn't care much about that kettle of turbo-fishes.  "Wazzpinator do nothing, _nothing_ , to zzpace!  Nothing to zzpace bits! Nothing to _anyone_!  But Wazzpinator _always_ going—"

His fist, swung wildly and at random, struck something distressingly solid, pressing a panel inward.

 _Click, click, beep_ , it said, cheerfully.

Waspinator would know that sound anywhere.  It was dismally familiar, the jingle and hum of a detonation sequence being activated.  So very, _very_ depressingly familiar.

"Oh, no," Waspinator gasped, pulling back the offending hand as if to somehow retract the transgression.  He moaned out desperately, in an appeal to deities that had done little to help him before, and seemed disinclined to mend their bitter ways. "No!  Not again!  Wazzpinator doesn't _want_ to go—"

And in some small, insignificant part of the universe, light briefly flared, along with a despairing, wretched cry of unending suffering.

"Whaaaaaauuuuugggghhhhhh!" Waspinator, as disaster again sent him wildly plunging, spinning helplessly and nauseatingly through the impassive nothingness.

Why did the universe _hate_ Waspinator?  Was he the reincarnation of some terrible being, guilty of unspeakable acts against all life?  Had he unknowingly insulted some distant, higher being with some uncharitable banter?  Was he simply doomed from the get-go, as increasing appeared to be the case?   The mere chew-toy of malicious fate, tormented at leisure for some sick slapstick appeal?

Frag it.  Frag it all.

"… Wazzpinator _quits_."

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism welcomed.


End file.
